Proposal
by keru.m
Summary: Sequel to Pep Talk. Title pretty much says it all.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, show, etc

A/N: Sequel to 'Pep Talk'. I started writing without really knowing where I wanted to go with it, which is a first. I did however always picture the proposal to go somewhat along these lines, because Harm does say the oddest things around Mac, doesn't he? Let me know what you think.

**Proposal**

He was still staring out of the window over the stove. The steam from the simmering contents in the pot in front of him had formed a thick layer of condensation on the window so that nothing on the outside was visible but, apparently, that was not a deterrent for him in the least. Maybe his super-pilot vision allowed him to see through solid objects, too. Mac bit her tongue to keep from voicing that caustic thought out loud. He had been standing there for a full 8 minutes and 44 seconds, staring and not doing much else. From the moment he had put that pot on the stovetop, in fact, Harm had just stood there, looking at that godforsaken window with the full force of his concentration. What was so interesting about condensation that it ranked higher than talking to her?

Actually, from the moment they had set foot inside the apartment, Harm had not said more than nine words to her. She remembered those nine words clearly, too. Three of them had been mumbled to her as he tried to step around her on his way to the washroom and ended up stepping on her toes – "excuse me, sorry" – and two were yelled, rather dramatically she thought, given that she had only tried to hang up his uniform pants – "No! Don't!" Mac couldn't help but frown at the recollection; that was an incredibly odd reaction. It was not as though this was the first time she had hung up his uniform when she was hanging her own, and he had done the same for her. Besides, he had no reason to complain: her uniform hanging skills were much more precise and developed than his. When he hung their uniforms up she always had to iron out wrinkles in her skirt. And what he did to the crease in her pants made the marine in her cringe. He was lucky she loved him otherwise he would never have been allowed within spitting distance of her pants. But odder still was the fact that he had wrenched the pants from her hands, forcibly turned her around and propelled her towards the kitchen with his two large palms to her back, practically ordering her to "Get the salad ready." Words six, seven, eight and nine. She didn't know whether to be offended or confused. She thought she was both. If she hadn't been confused, she was sure she would have forcibly removed his hands from her back. If not from his arms. The nerve of the man.

Confusion was also the only reason she was standing here in front of the counter cutting up his stupid salad while he silently stared at a window. Mac forced herself to focus her attentions back on chopping the dumb carrots for the dumb salad. She was getting more than mildly frustrated, but adamantly refused to allow that to ruin her evening. After the day she had had, she needed nothing more than a relaxing, quiet night at home. If he did not want to cooperate, so be it, but she would not show how much his ridiculous behaviour was affecting her mood. Sure, she knew by now that he took his time deciding whether to voice his troubles out loud; however, that did not mean that waiting for him to resolve his internal dilemma was an easy thing. In fact it was sometimes absolutely infuriating. She wanted nothing more than to shake him until the addled pieces of his brain fell into place. She took a deep breath that did little to calm her. Everyone has odd idiosyncrasies. She would ride his out and give him the space he needed. This magnanimous decision for amnesty was not extended to the carrots, which felt the full brunt of her impatience. Tough. He would have to have julienned carrots in his salad tonight and if he dared complain about it...He should thank her, in fact, for not julienning him and his damn reticence.

Mac threw the shredded carrots into the salad bowl and turned her attention to the cucumbers. While relaxing, quiet evenings were wonderfully therapeutic, completely silent evenings were incredibly dull. Boredom was now being added to her frustration. They had not spoken in 22 minutes and 13 seconds despite being no more than five feet apart. Time to make some conversation. Maybe she could draw him out.

"What are you making tonight?" He did not answer. She rolled her eyes: this was nothing new, not today anyways. If last night had not been so incredibly, absolutely, mind-numbingly fantastic – she let her thoughts drift over last night for a full minute and a half, knife poised in mid-air – she would have thought he was avoiding her. Maybe if she appealed to his ego; that had not failed her yet. She resumed chopping the cucumbers.

"Dinner last night was amazing…" she waited. No answer. Try again. "Dessert wasn't half bad either," she made sure to inject a heavy dose of suggestiveness into her tone. Still no answer. Surprising; that usually got his attention.

Mac once again took her frustration out on the innocent vegetable on the chopping board and decided to stop trying to make conversation. No. Wait. Why should she stop talking just because he wasn't answering or listening? Stubborn man. She could talk if she wanted to, last she checked, he didn't own sound waves. She dumped the cucumbers, now reduced to a juicy pulp, into the salad bowl and grabbed the lettuce which she proceeded to rip to shreds while fighting to keep the tone of her voice casual.

"Work was alright. Had a meeting with the Admiral and SecNav today," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was still staring into space over his pot of simmering whatever on the stove. She continued ripping into the lettuce. Well, if he wasn't listening she wasn't going to add to her own boredom by talking about her day. She was going to talk about whatever the hell she wanted to talk about.

"You know, I had always wanted a pet hippopotamus as a kid. Either a hippo or a rhino, actually. Could never decide. Whichever it was, she had to be pink. And not that watery run-down pink. No. Fuchsia or nothing," she paused but he was remaining maddeningly silent. The lettuce continued to serve as a handy target. "I knew my parents wouldn't get me a hippo, or a rhino for that matter, so I took matters into my own hands. That's how I came to run away to the circus and befriend Bongo-Bongo-Bing-Bong the green-nosed clown. He was a great guy but had trouble with the letters 'd' and 't'. Whenever he said 'Ladies and Gentlemen', it came out as 'Layees and Genylemen'. Caused quite an uproar, the 'Layees' bit." By this time, Mac was really getting into her narrative and almost forgot her previous frustration. "But the day I saw my first pink hippo…well, there are no words for that kind of first time-" her musings were interrupted by an odd odour. "Harm, is something burning?"

Mac turned to see that the simmering pot of whatever was now a simmering pot of burning whatever. Harm was still blissfully oblivious. "HARM!"

Harm jumped up at the sound of his name being yelled in a way she was sure he hadn't heard since his mom had caught him trying to jump off the roof of the shed with nothing but a sheet wrapped around his shoulders. She smiled as she remembered his re-telling of that story after a particularly enthusiastic round of lovemaking, when the smell of sex and afterglow still hung in the air and she lay wrapped in nothing but his arms. She had thought then that his mischievous, curious nature was one of the most endearing things about him. Mac was pulled out of her reverie by the clanging of a pot being thrown into the sink. She saw Harm turn on the faucet before rushing to open the window that had so captured his fascination just a minute ago. The expression on his face was intriguing. He looked frustrated and embarrassed and...apprehensive?

Mac watched Harm pensively. What in the world was wrong with him? Last night he had jumped back from the table like he had been scalded by boiling hot oil, looking for all the world as though he was about to be catapulted off a carrier – without the plane; and now this constant daydreaming, not to mention his incredibly odd and shifty behaviour around her ever since he came in to work late that morning because…She drew a blank. Why was he late coming in?

Idiosyncrasies be damned. It was time for some answers.

"Spill it, Rabb."

She crossed her arms and tried to put her face in his line of vision, but he avoided making eye contact with her. She moved a few times and bent forward to catch his eye before finally giving up, his avoidance left her feeling like a contortionist...maybe a career in the circus wasn't such a farfetched thought: Introducing Mac The Contortionist and Harm The Incredible Avoider of All Things Serious. Speaking of Harm, she focussed on him once again. He was now staring at the water filling the pot.

"Harm!" He did not so much as look at her. She was getting severely exasperated. What on earth could be troubling him like this? She would try one more time. "Harm?" She attempted what she hoped was a more inviting tone, although she wasn't sure she could keep her frustration from being evident.

He still didn't answer. She could literally feel her patience crack. She had spent a large chunk of the day stuck in the Admiral's office with the SecNav, forced to listen to one of the most inane conversations she had ever had the misfortune of subjecting her ears to, then Harm had avoided her all day and now he was acting like a stupid, stubborn two-year old. She wanted to pull her hair out. One part of her wanted to ream him a new one, another part knew that she would just be taking her frustrations out on him. That had never gone over well in the past. She decided to leave Harm to scrub his pot, daydream and ignore her. She needed to get out of the suddenly too-small apartment.

"I'm going to go pick us up some dinner. I think you need some time alone with your thoughts." he didn't respond. Mac threw the lettuce in the bowl, congratulating herself on fighting the urge to throw the lettuce at him, or better yet, stuff it down his shirt. She paused in mid-action and turned that last thought over in her mind. Why the hell not? He loved lettuce and he had pointedly ignored her all day. He deserved it. She deserved it; in fact, she had earned it. This was a fabulous idea.

Mac grabbed a handful of lettuce and paused to consider her options before shrugging and putting her lettuce-filled hand in the salad bowl to add some shredded carrots and cucumber pulp to the mix. She proceeded to tiptoe her way to the sink, where Harm was still assiduously scrubbing the pot, his back turned to her. Not that she needed to sneak up on him, she reflected as she skilfully made her way to him. First, he was a squid and second he was even more than his usual oblivious self today.

As she came up right behind him, Mac lifted her salad-filled hand while slowly inching her other hand to the collar of his shirt. Just as she brought down her salad-filled arm to stuff its contents down his shirt, Harm abruptly turned around. "M-"

He was rudely interrupted by a handful of salad to the face. Mac watched his face contort into a mask of incredulousness as gobs of cucumber pulp slid down his nose and landed on the floor with a soft plop. She put a hand over her mouth and tried to contain her laughter but the sight of him looking so surprised, his face covered in shredded lettuce and carrots and cucumber slime, combined with the stress of the day and evening was too much. She pointed a finger at his face and burst into gales of laughter. The part of her that was not busy enjoying his discomfiture thought that throwing salad had felt surprisingly satisfying. Maybe she was part two-year old, too.

She laughed so hard her eyes watered and her sides hurt. He still had that look of surprise frozen onto his face. As she paused to catch her breath she saw the look of surprise turn into one of mischievousness. Before she could react, he hugged her, lowered his face to hers and rubbed his cheek, chin, nose over hers, effectively covering her in salad. She felt the cool slime of the cucumbers slide down her jaw.

"Eww, Harm! That's disgusting!" She put up a half-hearted struggle to pull out of his embrace.

He laughed, "This from a marine who hikes barefoot in snake and slug infested jungles." Ooh, he was talking to her again. She had always thought salad was his weak spot.

"That was only once," she felt him tighten one arm around her waist and watched the other reach for a napkin. He began to softly wipe the salad off her face, "and this is salad! At least snakes and slugs have character..."

She trailed off as she noticed the look in his eyes. He didn't look at her like that very often, open and sincere, full of caring and longing and happiness and something else she could never name. She loved being looked at like that by him, she treasured every instance, stored each away deep in a part of her heart reserved for those dreams she had as a kid, sitting in a dark closet wishing for better things, hoping for anything but what she knew would happen when her father walked through the front door.

"Harm, what's wrong? You've been acting strange all day." She didn't have to force the softness in her tone this time.

The hand which had been gently wiping cucumber off her face paused in its actions. He looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to her face. He seemed to be trying to determine how she would react to whatever he had to say so she tried to look supportive. He resumed wiping her face and she decided he could do with a clean-up too; she doubted she could take him seriously covered in salad. She reached for a napkin on the counter, wiped the salad off him and then removed the napkin he was cleaning her face with from his hand. He continued to caress her face, his finger tracing the line of her eyebrow, her cheekbone, her jaw.

She was pretty sure she would melt into a giant puddle of very happy goo if he kept that up. She couldn't help but close her eyes and let out a moan of pleasure from deep in her throat.

Mac," she opened her eyes at his soft urging. He looked quite out of sorts. Odd. His fingers stilled and he glanced momentarily at his feet before looking into her eyes.

"I – ah – that is...Mac...what I mean...Shit." He hung his head so she couldn't read his expression.

Mac frowned at his sudden lack of eloquence. She could not recall him ever being like this so she had no point of reference on how to react. Perhaps she ought to feel some degree of concern, but he looked so funny standing there, shuffling his feet, his arms around her waist and his eyes on anything but her.

She felt him take a deep breath. He raised his head to look her in the eyes, "Mac. Last night, I realized something," he looked away again, "and I realized it again this morning and umm, again right now, really. Well, not right now, now. More like a minute ago." She blinked. He lost her again. The man spoke in mazes. "Or maybe a second or two, really, you would know better than me, umm...because of your time thing," he stopped again, stepped away from her and ran a hand through his hair. "Shit." He put his hands on his hips, legs apart and looked at the floor. He seemed to be marshalling his thoughts. Seeing Harm like this was immeasurably more entertaining than it was concerning. She wished she had a camera. She leaned against the counter and waited for the next round with no small degree of amusement. This beat a quiet, relaxing evening any day of the week.

"I realized something last night. It was an epiphany, really." He looked up at her yet again, "An epiphany. I can keep the promise," he gave her meaningful look which she could not, for the life of her, begin to decipher. He must have noted her confusion because he continued, "the promise. You know, the one that counts." Well, that was a pretty poor elaboration. No, she did not know and was confused as to why he was getting frustrated with her. Maybe he needed more salad to fortify him. Before she could decide on the merits of scooping up another handful of lettuce, Harm took three quick steps toward her and grabbed her by the shoulders so forcefully that for a moment her feet lifted off the ground. This was the second time he was manhandling her in one evening. Enough. "Harm, if you don't take your hands off of me and explain yourself with words, you are going to find yourself on the other side of this room in a position no human being was ever intended to-" She stopped mid-rant as she saw Harm go down on one knee, holding both her hands in his.

What was he doing down on one knee?

"Marry me."

Oh.

She didn't know what to do and thought that it would have been more gentlemanly of him to warn her so that she could have made sure she was sitting down. She needed to sit down. What was stopping her? She suddenly plonked herself down on the floor, cross-legged, in front of Harm who was still on bent knee.

"Umm...I think convention dictates that you to be standing for this," he sounded hesitant and rather unsure of himself. She briefly wondered why until her brain registered what exactly he had said.

She looked at him blankly. What? Standing? Why?

"What? Standing? Why?"

He looked exasperated. "Fine. Sit. I just wanted to do this right, the whole thing," he began to speak rapidly and she had to concentrate to understand him, "from the proposal to the kids, don't worry they can eat dinner with us, to the minivan, or an SUV if you would prefer one, to the joint bank account. Yes," he gave a quick panicked laugh, "I'm okay with a joint bank account. I can do all of that. For you, though. Only you," he lowered his voice for the next line and looked at the floor between them. She thought he might have been speaking more to himself than to her. "I don't think I could do it for anyone else..." She was struggling to keep up with him. Joint bank account?

"Joint bank account?"

Obviously her usual brain-to-tongue filter had passed out from shock. She could not put two coherent thoughts together, let alone voice them out loud. Did he really just ask her to marry him. She must have misheard. Tarry him? Larry him? No, that made no sense. Carry him?

"Well, that comes with the package, too, you know," he continued at that same frazzled pace and she tried to catch up. "The priest or whoever doesn't include that in the vows, pulling wool over some eyes, I would argue. They say love and cherish but they don't say mortgage and joint bank account. But I am going into this with both eyes really, really wide open." He stopped suddenly and muttered something under his breath. Was he swearing?

He didn't look too pleased at the idea that his eyes were 'really, really wide open'. But if that were the case, what had brought this on? Had he really just asked her to marry him? They had not been dating for that long, had they? In any case, they hadn't talked marriage at all, really. Unless Harm had mentioned it in that oblique round-about way he was so skilled at. Surely she would have picked up on that, though, surely. And she hadn't mentioned it or thought of it. Well, she hadn't thought of it too much. So what had brought this on?

"What brought this on?"

"We were eating dinner last night and, well, Mac, I want to share dinner with you for the rest of my life."

Well, that was as strange as it was sweet.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, dinner. And then today in front of the jewellery store – wait, dammit! I didn't do this the right way..."

He dug furiously into his pocket while giving her a conspiratorial look, "You almost found this earlier." He must have found what he was looking for because he suddenly straightened up, "Let's start over." He pulled something out of his pocket and hesitated. "Do you want to stand up?"

She didn't think she could stand if she wanted to. She shook her head.

He watched her for a moment, considering her response, before shrugging. "Fine. But I'm going to stay on one knee because that's how it's done," he gave her a pointed glance, "the right way." He took a deep breath and her left hand in his right, the ring poised right above her finger. That simple action of his made her want to say yes more than anything. Well, almost anything. She also wanted to hear him say it again.

"Mac, marry me," she knew that even fifty years from now she would still never have heard sweeter words, "I have never loved anyone the way I love you. And I don't think I ever will," he must have misread her reaction because he went from mildly confident to slightly nervous. "Well, I'm pretty sure I never will but you know, the future, well...umm...that can't be predicted, can it? That is, well – ah – I don't think it can. But, well, the point is that I don't want to love anyone." he looked panicked, Mac thought. "No, wait! But you. Anyone but you! Of course I do...Ah, hell."

She saw him take another deep breath and couldn't decide if this was fun to watch or painful to witness. She laughed softly, who was she kidding? It was really fun to watch.

He looked up at the sound of laughter and gave a sheepish grin. "I, ah, can't seem to do this right. I knew I should have written something down."

She thought that perhaps she had never loved him more than she did right now.

"Would you give me one more try?"

She gave him her best smile. "Yes."

He sighed with relief. "Great. Thanks. I'll get it right this time." He cleared his throat, "M-"

"No. I mean yes."

Now it was his turn to look confused so she opted to clarify.

"Yes, I will marry you. How could I not?"

The smile he gave her would have put the sun to shame. "Really?" his smile dimmed and he seemed to hesitate, "did I, umm, mention the bit about the joint bank account?"

She laughed and pointed at the ring he was still holding just above her finger. He looked down at the ring and joined in on her laughter. She could hear as much as see the relief he felt. Did he really think she would refuse him? How daft.

"Right. The ring." He went to put the ring on her finger, but paused right before he reached the target. Mac thought she might burst with anticipation. She looked up from the ring to his face, why had he stopped?

"I love you, Mac. The way I feel about you, well, there are no words for what I feel," he paused and she fervently hoped that he wouldn't get sidetracked in another of his verbal spasms of awkwardness. "Well, no words that I know. In English. I don't speak much else, not very well anyways..." he trailed off with a soft smile. No such luck. She sighed internally, feeling both exasperated at his extreme nervousness and touched by it. She would tell him one day that he was more like Bud than he would care to admit. Around her, at least. She hoped it was only around her. She didn't think the world was ready for shy, bashful, adorable Harm. More importantly, she didn't think she was ready to share.

"Anyways," he took yet another deep breath and she fleetingly thought that he had perhaps used up more than his fair share of oxygen this evening, "I promise you," he looked at her again in that way she so loved. Twice in one day. She sighed in pure bliss, she was sure she had never felt this happy, she wasn't sure she had even known until now that she could. "I promise I will not ever give you even a moment of regret, Sarah. Ever."

He slipped the ring on her finger and she felt the tears slip down her cheeks. They both looked at the ring resting comfortably on her finger before looking at each other. He wrapped her in a fierce hug which she more than gladly reciprocated. She thought she heard him whisper a soft 'thank you'.

"Harm" she knew she sounded as awed as she felt. She was engaged. To Harm. She was getting married. To Harm. She rolled that around her dazed mind for a bit. Engaged. To Harm. Married. To Harm. "Harm."

He pulled away slightly from their embrace and brought a hand to trace her face just as he had earlier. "Mac, I'm sorry. You deserved a better proposal than that," she wanted to tell him that it was all absolutely perfect but he wouldn't give her the chance. "It's just that, well, I can't believe I really want to marry you-" he stopped when he saw her eyes widen. Mac figured he must not have given much thought to what he was saying since he frowned at her reaction before going wide-eyed himself. "No! I don't mean that-"

"Harm," she thought it best to pre-empt him from further burying himself under the weight of his verbal clumsiness. "I think I know what you mean," she gazed at the ring on her hand which now rested on Harm's shoulder. "I can't believe you want to get married, either." She really didn't think he had it in him, not this soon at least. She was so incredibly pleased that he did. "You are full of surprises, Harm." She turned her attention from her ring to her fiancé – she paused for a moment to savour the thought: fiancé. My fiancé, Harm. Have you met Harm, my fiancé? We're engaged. Going to be married. Hmm, that sounded so wonderful she thought she ought to take out an ad in the paper tomorrow and every day thereafter forever. Or maybe hire one of those pilots that wrote messages in the sky. What were they called? Harm (her fiancé) would know. She wondered if he could maybe write messages in the sky himself. She made a mental note to ask him. Later. But first, "I love you."

He smiled fondly at her, his eyes sparkling. "I love you, Mac. There is one thing you should know, though. I hope it's not a deal-breaker."

"What's that?" she noted that mischievous look in his eyes and flashed to a picture of him jumping off the roof of the shed in nothing but a bed sheet.

"I can't promise you a pink hippo. Or a rhino for that matter."

No, she decided as she pulled him in for a kiss, she had definitely never known that she could be this happy.


End file.
